


You Look So Good to Me, You Never Change

by whispered_story



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Banter, Established Relationship, Flirting, Fluff, M/M, Rimming, Shower Sex, Smut, Valentine's Day (Winchester style)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-09
Updated: 2018-02-09
Packaged: 2019-03-15 23:46:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13624017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whispered_story/pseuds/whispered_story
Summary: Dean might think it's a stupid holiday, but he's still convinced he can give Sam the best Valentine's Day ever. It's a bet Sam is willing to lose.





	You Look So Good to Me, You Never Change

**Author's Note:**

> betaed by [dancing_adrift](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dancing_Adrift/pseuds/Dancing_Adrift) ♥
> 
> Title taken from Kris Kristofferson's "Lucky in Love".

"Ah, it's that time of the year again," Dean says, looking at the display of chocolate in red and pink heart-shaped boxes. "I don't get why anyone would be into that kinda crap, dude."

Sam tosses a few power bars into the shopping cart and gives Dean an amused smile. "Says the guy who has tried to give me _actual_ hearts for Valentine's Day for the past god knows how many years," he says, keeping his voice low in case anyone is nearby.

Dean grins widely. "That's classy, Sammy," he says, knocking his shoulder into Sam as they continue down the aisle. "That's different and quirky and _personal_."

"It's gross," Sam argues.

Dean gives him an offended look and grabs a bag of Doritos from the shelf. "Excuse me?" he says with mock outrage. "It's funny. Funny's romantic and shit. Isn't that what you're into?"

Sam snorts. "Yeah, right, I'm dying for you to get me flowers and chocolates," he says sarcastically. "And you're many things, but romantic isn't one of them, Dean."

"I could be," Dean argues and his expression turns a bit more serious. "Sammy, if I wanted to, I could give you the most special, awesome Valentine's Day ever and you would love it. And you know it, bitch."

"Jerk," Sam mutters, automatically. "And you could not. I'm pretty sure romance makes you actually break out in hives or something."

"Sam. _Sam_. Sammy, ye of little faith," Dean mocks. "Wanna bet?"

"Yeah?" Sam stops and turns towards Dean, raising an eyebrow. "What are we betting for?"

Dean looks at him for a moment, and he's got that expression on his face that always gives Sam pause, makes heat settle in his body. Dean's lips are curled up into the hint of a smirk, eyes fixed on Sam, thoughtful and fond and dirty all at once. 

"How about the winner gets to ask the loser for anything?" he suggests, voice deliberately low and it hits Sam low in the gut. Always does. He's goddamn easy when it comes to Dean and he's stopped caring about it.

"Anything?" Sam repeats.

Dean steps closer, curls once hand loosely into the fabric of Sam's shirt, right over his sternum, and pulls him in. He leans up, their mouths connecting in a kiss. It's short, but when Dean draws back after just a couple seconds, he takes Sam's lower lip between his teeth, gives it a small tug that has Sam's blood rushing south, before letting go. "Anything, baby boy," he murmurs. 

"Okay," Sam says, and it comes out breathier than intended, so he clears his throat, composes himself. "Deal."

Dean smirks, and Sam gets the feeling that he's going to lose this bet.

They get the rest of the snacks they want and Dean, walking up to the cash register, tosses a bag of candy hearts into Sam's basket.

"Didn't you just say you hated that shit?"

Dean waggles his eyebrows. "Yeah, but I plan to eat those off your body later tonight, just to give you a hint of what you're in store for, _baby_ ," he says, loud enough for the checkout girl to hear him. Sam isn't sure if she blushes more, or if he does.

*

Sam blinks his eyes open, humming when he realizes what woke him up was Dean pressing kisses along his neck. It only takes a few seconds before his sleep-muddled brain catches up and Sam remembers that today is the fourteenth.

"Good morning," Dean murmurs, and Sam smiles. 

He stretches, not so subtly pressing back into Dean and feeling the heavy weight of his dick nudging against his ass.

"Hmm, yeah. Good morning," he says teasingly. Dean breathes out a laugh against his skin and slides his arms around Sam, skimming over his belly.

"As much as I'd like to do _that_ with you right now, I actually have plans for us," he admits. "Thought we could go running."

The words give Sam pause. "Running," he repeats. "You and me?"

Dean huffs, more amused than anything. "You're making it sound weird, Sammy. Yes, running. You and me."

"You never go running with me," Sam points out. He can't actually remember the last time they ran together. It must have been before Stanford, back when Dean and he trained together all the time. 

These days, Dean prefers working out inside, while Sam likes being outside in nature. Enjoys the fresh air and the quiet.

They spar sometimes, lift weights together, but Sam does that to stay in shape, while running is something that actually gives him pleasure, lets him clear his head for a little bit. For Dean, it's all part of the job and he does it, but begrudgingly so. And unless he has to get up for a job, he prefers to stay in bed as long as he can while Sam usually gets up at the crack of dawn.

"Well, I thought today we could," Dean says. He spreads his fingers out on Sam's stomach, star-shaped, until they span most of his belly, making warmth spread through Sam. "It's a beautiful, sunny, crisp morning."

Sam snorts out a laugh at that. "How'd you know? We don't have fucking windows in the bunker, Dean."

Dean brushes his lips against the skin behind Sam's ear. "Well, the weather forecast said it'd be a beautiful, sunny, crisp morning, so ...," he says, and Sam can feel him smile against his skin.

He nudges Dean back a little with his elbow. "Well, you better stop touching me then, or we're not getting up at all," he says, and starts rolling out of bed.

*

It actually is sunny outside, though it's freezing too, and their breaths puff out in foggy clouds in the cold hair.

The ground feels springy under Sam's shoes as they run, soft from recent rain, and he loves the way the air smells, all earthy and clean, and it's making Sam feel invigorated. 

Dean, on the other hand, is usually the kind of person who will complain and curse the whole time while working out, but today he is keeping his mouth shut, running by Sam's side and, sometimes, falling a little behind and Sam can tell he's watching him.

He turns his head back a couple of times, finds Dean's eyes fixed low enough that Sam knows he must be staring at his ass while he runs. Sam's not sure if he's doing it deliberately—if he's trying to make a show out of how much he wants him, making Sam feel good and special, because it's Valentine's Day and in Dean's head that's probably a romantic thing to do. Except, Sam doubts Dean even knows what it does to him when Dean does this. When he looks at Sam like that, when he checks him out.

Sam knows Dean is attracted to him. This thing between them is about a lot more than that, but Dean has let him know Sam turns him on more than once, too. But usually when he does it, when he looks at Sam like that or tells Sam how hot he is, it's a prelude to sex. He does it when he knows full well that it'll end with Sam naked and bent over for him a few minutes later. This? This is just Dean appreciating how Sam looks, silently, without making a big deal out of it, without doing anything about it. 

Sam ducks his head a little, smiling.

*

"Shower," Dean says, steering Sam down the hallway towards the bathroom when they get back to the bunker.

Sam doesn't argue. He might like working out, but he knows it makes him sweaty and pink and a little gross. Dean, of course, looks like a model for a fucking gym ad, with a sheen of sweat that's more hot than anything and a healthy looking flush.

They strip down silently once they're in the bathroom, and Dean turns on the shower spray in the first of the five stalls. The sound of water splashing onto tiles fills the room, steam starting to billow up. Dean curls his hand around Sam's wrist and pulls him inside him with him.

"I didn't hate that," Dean admits, tipping his head back, letting the water rain down on him for a moment before steering them around, hands on Sam's hips, so Sam is fully under the spray instead.

"Yeah?" Sam asks, rolling his shoulders as the water beats down on him. "Gonna join me more often from now on?"

"If you can move your runs from the ass-crack of dawn to noon," Dean jokes. He reaches past Sam.

Sam raises his eyebrows when he sees the bottle Dean pulls from the small rack behind him.

"That's new," he notes.

Dean gives him a small grin. "Bought it a couple of days ago," he says. "It was expensive as fuck, so I figured it's probably the good shit. And it smells nice."

Sam laughs a little. "Yeah?" he asks.

Dean hums. "Don't get used to it," he warns. "Now turn around."

Sam smirks and does as he's told. He tilts his head back a little, closing his eyes as Dean starts sliding his fingers into his hair. He takes his time, more than Sam knows is necessary to work up a good lather, and Sam barely manages to bite back the soft noises threatening to spill from his mouth.

He tips his head further back when Dean nudges him, lets the water wash out the suds, Dean's fingers teasing through his wet hair until it's all cleaned.

Dean grabs Sam's bodywash next, and Sam sighs contentedly as Dean runs soapy hands all over his back. He drops little kisses onto Sam's skin, nudges and manhandles him into positions until Sam is clean all over.

Breathing a little heavier, Sam brushes wet hair out of face and grabs the bottle of shampoo Dean set aside just a couple of minutes ago.

"Your turn," he says.

Dean makes a protesting noise. "It's supposed to be about you," he points out. "This is going to count against me later."

Sam laughs at that, honestly amused at the fact that Dean thinks letting Sam touch him could ever be something Sam wouldn't appreciate. 

"No, it's really not, promise," he says. "Please let me?"

Dean considers it for a split moment, looking hesitant, but then nods. 

He hums as Sam starts massaging his scalp, and by the time Sam is finished with the body wash, Dean is rock hard. Sam presses up behind him, wrapping a soapy hand around Dean and giving him a few, slow strokes. He isn't faring any better, because Dean is naked and wet, and he's got the stupid ability to make Sam feel horny twenty-four-seven, as if Sam still a teenager. 

Sam kisses the shell of Dean's ear and rocks his hips against Dean's ass. "Want you to fuck me," he murmurs.

"Fuck yes, baby," Dean pants. He turns in the circle of Sam's arms and slides a hand around his neck, tugging him into a kiss. 

Mouths sliding together, water making the kiss all slick and hot, Dean backs Sam into the tiled wall.

They've done this enough times that they keep a bottle of lube in the shower now, just in case, and Dean breaks the kiss long enough to grab it and coat his fingers in slick. He kisses Sam again as he worms his hand between Sam and the wall, getting slippery lube everywhere, and slides his fingers down Sam's crack.

"Hmm, yeah," Sam moans.

He wants to lift one leg, give Dean better access, but he knows that's an accident waiting to happen, so he just clings to Dean, moans when Dean slides their tongues together just as he sinks into him with one finger. 

The angle isn't perfect, Sam too fucking tall, and by the time Dean has two fingers in him, a third nudging against Sam's rim, Sam urges him back and then twists around. He puts his hands on the tiles, bends over a little so his ass pushes back into Dean.

"Fuck, baby boy," Dean curses, and then his fingers are back. He circles Sam's hole, massaging, before he pushes in with three. Sam hangs his head and groans. After all this time, the stretch still burns a little, muscles clenching before Sam relaxes around Dean's fingers and he starts rocking back eagerly.

Sam's not a very patient person when it comes to gratification. Never has been. And so, before long, he lets his legs slide a little further apart on the wet shower floor, and rests his forehead against the cold tiles.

"Now, Dean," he urges. "Fuck me. Please, just fuck me already."

"Okay. Okay, yeah," Dean mutters, and Sam doesn't have to wait long. 

With one hand on his hip, Dean holds him in place, stills him, as he guides himself inside Sam. Sam moans as he feels the head of his cock pressing against his hole, the way the pressure builds until Dean pushes past it and then continues to sink right into him, not stopping until he's buried deep. 

With both hands on Sam's hips then, he starts fucking him. His thrusts make Sam slip forward on the wet tiles, hands grappling for leverage as he rocks back into Dean at the same time. They never quite find a rhythm, the slippery, wet floor making it impossible, but Sam likes it. Likes how it forces Dean to shift them around, the angle never quite the same, each burst of pleasure sharp and unexpected. It's making Dean's thrusts sloppier than usual and his fingers are gripping Sam hard enough to bruise. 

Sam ends up pressed into the tiles head to chest, Dean crowded against him.

Grinding into him with small rocks of his hips, Dean kisses his shoulder, his neck. "You feel so good around me, Sammy," he murmurs. "So tight and hot and slick. Like you were fucking made for me."

Sam pants, pushing back, wanting Dean as deep inside as possible, reveling in the way Dean is keeping him full, stretched wide.

"Guess you were, huh?" Dean continues, the words spilling hotly over Sam's skin. They make Sam's heart trip, and draw a low, long moan from his lips.

"Yeah," he says, head spinning a little. "I was, Dean. Fuck, _I was_."

"Yeah," Dean breathes, and he comes then, biting down onto Sam's shoulder so hard, Sam knows it'll leave a mark. Feeling it, the heat of Dean's come inside of him, the way Dean trembles against him and the sharp pain in his shoulder, pushes Sam over the edge too, and he shoots against the tiles, Dean's arms the only thing holding him up.

*

They have breakfast, Sam's hair still damp and neither of them able to keep a grin off their faces. Dean keeps touching him and stealing food from Sam's plate only to kiss Sam's mock frowns off his lips moments later.

*

"Thought we could just kick back for while and watch something," Dean says when the dishes are done.

Sam is happy to let Dean call the shots today, let himself be surprised, so he just nods. They head into Dean's bedroom and Dean places Sam's laptop on a small stack of books before settling down, patting the space between his spread thighs.

"Seriously?" Sam asks, even as he gets onto the bed and crawls between Dean's legs.

"Yes," Dean says. "Stop pretending you don't love it."

Sam grins, shrugging. "Depends on what you picked," he challenges.

Dean leans forward, making Sam move with him. He maximizes the browser and Sam realizes he must have planned this, the movie already buffered, and he presses play. To Sam's surprise, it's not a movie but a documentary about Lonnie Franklin.

"What, no romcom?" Sam teases.

"I can put one of those on if you'd really prefer it," Dean says, pulling Sam against him, bending one leg and planting his foot on the mattress.

"Don't you dare," Sam threatens, and settles more comfortably against Dean. 

It's the furthest thing from a Valentine's Day movie, but it's the kind of thing Sam enjoys. And Dean doesn't, really, but he's still watching it with Sam and Sam appreciates the gesture more than he can say.

"If I say something," Dean murmurs after a while, tightening his arms around Sam's middle, "you can't ever hold it against me."

"What?" Sam says, momentarily distracted from the documentary.

"This is kinda nice," Dean says.

Sam turns his head back then, and when he finds Dean looking completely earnest, he can't stop himself from cupping Dean's face and kissing him. He nips at Dean's bottom lip playfully before drawing back.

"Know why romcoms aren't bad?" he asks and doesn't wait for Dean to reply. "I wouldn't want to watch that shit, so I'd just make out with you the whole time."

"Damn. Gotta remember that," Dean says.

Sam grins and turns back to the video.

*

Dean makes them sandwiches for lunch, which they eat in bed, starting on a second documentary that Netflix suggests to them.

Afterwards, once the credits have rolled and the music has stopped, they stay where they are, Sam still between Dean's legs, held against his chest. One of Dean's hands is under Sam's shirt, fingers trailing over his stomach, and Sam feels the steady touch starting to lull him to sleep. His cock is half-hard, because Dean is touching him and his body always reacts to that, but there's no urgency. Instead, Sam feels the kind of contentedness that is making him feel boneless and relaxed.

"What's next?" he asks around a small yawn, letting his hand fall onto Dean's chest, the fabric of his shirt between them.

"This not good enough for you?" Dean asks.

"Hmm, no. This is great," Sam admits. "But I know you. I bet you have something else up your sleeve."

"Actually, I thought we could go somewhere," Dean says, resting his free hand on Sam's thigh and giving it a squeeze. "If you feel like going out."

"Go where?"

"It's a surprise."

"Okay," Sam says and shifts. "Do I need to change?"

"Into what? A pretty dress?" Dean mocks, amusement thick in his voice.

Sam elbows him a little and then slides out of Dean's arms and off the bed. "So you're not taking me on a really fancy date then?" he jokes, turning to Dean and fluttering his eyelashes at him. 

Dean scoots to the edge of the bed, wrapping his arms around Sam's hips, drawing him back in close.

"Aww, would you like that, sweetheart?" he murmurs.

Sam laughs. "Oh yes," he says, breathily, playing along. "You know I'm a flowers and champagne kinda guy."

"Too bad. I like the beer and vibrators kinda guys," Dean says bluntly.

It startles a laugh out of Sam and he grins down at Dean. "Guys need to earn it before I break out the sex toys, _baby_."

"Oh, and I haven't earned it yet?" Dean asks, raising a sharp eyebrow.

"Nope," Sam says, even though they both know it's a complete lie. If Dean brought out a toy right now, Sam would get back onto the bed with him faster than Dean can blink.

"Well, I don't need toys to make you scream, baby boy," Dean says. He drops one hand to Sam's ass, cups one cheek and gives it a squeeze that makes Sam's cock get a little heavier. 

"Dean," he says, wisps of want flickering up inside of him

"Later," Dean promises. "We should get going before it gets too late."

"Too late for what?" Sam asks, as Dean gets up. 

Dean just tosses him a grin and shakes his head, clearly not willing to give anything away.

*

When Sam realizes where they're going, driving down K-191, he lets out a startled laugh.

The monument for the geographical center of the United States, for the forty-eight contiguous states anyway, is just outside of Lebanon. When they first moved into the bunker, Sam spent an entire afternoon reading up on the lore the Men of Letters had accumulated on it, getting lost in the theories they had on the place. Dean and he had talked about checking it out, but then a hunt came up and then another, and Sam kind of forgot about it. 

"Really?" he asks now, unable to hide his excitement. 

Dean doesn't take his eyes off the road, smirking and looking pleased. "Dude, it's kinda embarrassing that we've never been."

"Yeah, it kinda is," Sam agrees. 

Soon after, Dean pulls up on the side of the road by the stone monument. There's a wooden arch too. They get out of the car and Dean falls into step next to Sam as they walk up to it.

"So, is it as much of a let-down as about ninety-nine percent of the roadside attractions we've seen?" Dean asks, lips turned up into a giddy sort of smile. He loves these kinds of things, drives miles out of his way to make them see balls of twine or giant sculptures.

"What's the one percent that wasn't disappointing?"

Dean gives Sam a leer. "Your cock and ass, of course," he says. "Seen it at the side of the road in every state by now, I think. And it's been worth it every time."

Sam gives a startled laugh, even as his cheeks heat up. "Shut up," he says.

"True though, Sammy," Dean says and winds his arm around Sam's waist, dragging him against his side. He kisses Sam's cheek, loud and sloppy.

"God, you're really going to go out of your way to win this bet," Sam says, and Dean hums. 

"If you don't think I think your cock and ass are a fucking work of art, baby boy, I've been doing something wrong," Dean says, and Sam gives a little shrug. They stop in front of the arch, and Dean makes a little disbelieving noise. 

"Sam," he says. "You're the fucking hottest and prettiest thing I've ever had in my bed."

Sam bites down on his bottom lip, muffling his snort. It should be insulting, the way Dean says it. Sleazy. But it's Dean and Sam knows he means that in the most complimentary way possible. 

"I can't believe you made me say that, you little shit," Dean continues, shaking his head.

"Yeah, put a gun to your head and everything," Sam snarks and grins, feeling more pleased than he would ever admit. Because stupid as it is, insecure as it makes him, he really fucking likes it when Dean tells him shit like that.

Dean gives his waist a squeeze. "Yeah, if you ever tell anyone I said that, I'll tell them you did," he says.

"Who would I tell?" Sam asks. 

Dean lets his arm fall from around Sam's waist—not without brushing his hand over Sam's ass for a split second—and then places his palm over his heart. "You're making it sound as if we have no friends, Sammy. As if we're all alone, you and me," he says, and it shouldn't be funny. It's fucking painful, thinking about the people they've lost, the relationships they've never even been able to form. Sam still laughs anyway.

"Yeah," he snorts. "That'd be fucking insane, right?"

Dean scoffs, smirking and then tugs at a strand of Sam's hair, hard enough for it to hurt a little. "Good thing we have each other, huh, Sammy?"

"I have no idea why I stick around sometimes," Sam mocks. He regrets the words instantly, and he sends Dean a small smile to soften to blow, hoping Dean will know there's no truth to the words. 

To his relief, Dean's smile doesn't falter. "Because," he says, dropping his voice, "you might have a _slightly_ bigger dick, baby, but the things I can do with mine are legendary."

"That so?" Sam asks.

Dean gives him a slow, lazy grin and catches him by the hips, pulling Sam against him. He tips his head up and kisses Sam, just as slow, just as lazy, and Sam melts into it. Nobody has ever kissed him the way Dean does, languid and dirty all at once, his lips plush, his mouth hot, slotting perfectly against Sam's.

"We should make that a thing," Dean murmurs when they part.

"Hmm, what?"

"Making out next to every roadside attraction we come across," Dean says. 

Sam just curves his hand around Dean's jaw and drags him back in.

*

They stay until the sun finally starts to set, sitting on the hood of the Impala even though it's freezing cold. A few other people stop by and Sam and Dean watch them. A group of teenagers, a couple in their thirties, two guys in a truck.

Sam nudges Dean when the two men circle the monument, not looking very impressed. "That's gonna be us in a few years."

"In a few _decades_ , maybe, asshole," Dean huffs. "And I will never have a gut or haircut like that. I'll always be fucking hot."

Sam grins and pokes Dean's side. "No gut, huh?"

The look Dean gives him is genuinely offended. 

Sam laughs and leans in close. Not wanting to kiss Dean while the two men are still nearby, he settles for murmuring, "Kidding. You know I spring a boner the second you take your shirt off."

Dean looks a little mollified at that. "You do," he agrees, and leans into Sam's side, shoulders pressed together.

Sam watches the guys get back into their truck and drive off.

"Wanna go get some dinner?" Dean asks. "Thought we could hit a bar, have some beer and burgers, play pool."

Sam looks at him, head ducked down a little. "I thought it was supposed to be my perfect Valentine's Day, not yours?" 

Dean gives him a look, eyebrows raised. And yeah, Sam might pull off a prissy bitch face—Dean's words, not his—like nobody else, but Dean isn't far behind. 

"Okay, fine," Sam gives in with a shrug, not bothering to pretend Dean's suggestion doesn't actually sound appealing. He's more of a homebody than Dean is, but there's something comforting about the dingy bars Dean likes. Maybe _because_ Sam associates them with Dean so much; he's been sneaking him into them with him since Sam was sixteen, teaching him how to play pool and darts and sharing his drinks with him. Sam sought those kind of bars out when he was in college because they made him feel a connection to Dean, calmed him down when he was keyed up, when he was aching with how much he missed his brother.

It's a little different now. Now, he goes because he likes spending time with Dean, likes watching Dean unwind and have fun. It's when Dean flirts that it sucks, that he gets testy, but he's gotten better about it. Being the one Dean goes home to these days has made it a lot easier. And Sam has come to enjoy the familiarity of the bars Dean picks, all of them feeling and looking pretty much the same, no matter what state they're in.

*

The bar they go to is a little hole-in-the-wall type of place. One that doesn't advertise any sort of Valentine's Day special, like most other places do today, and Sam is pleasantly surprised that it's not too crowded. The floor is sticky and the beer is cheap and the grin that forms on Dean's face when they step inside makes Sam kind of fall in love with the bar.

For once, he doesn't complain that the food is a bit greasy. The beer is cold and nice, and Dean doesn't even look at the waitress's cleavage once. 

He doesn't seem eager to get drunk either. They share wings and have burgers and it's only when they're done that Dean orders them shots. 

"Pool?" Dean suggests once they've knocked the tequila back.

"Sure," Sam agrees. 

Dean slides out of their booth and Sam follows, heading for one of the two pool tables that isn't occupied. Sam sips his beer while Dean racks up the balls, and he waves at Dean to break. 

When it's his turn, Sam sinks two balls before missing, and Dean makes a small noise next to him.

"Your angle was off," he says.

"I could tell," Sam says, rolling his eyes.

"No, I..." Dean starts and then moves, stepping behind him. "Let me show you how to do it."

"Dean. You know I know how to play pool," Sam says.

He feels Dean's breath against his neck and suppresses a shudder when Dean's hands settle on his waist.

"Let me show you how to do it," Dean repeats, his voice deeper. Seductive, because he knows how to get to Sam, even though the move is totally cliché and a little ridiculous on a guy like Sam who hustles people at pool on a regular basis. 

But Sam is more than willing to play along if it gets Dean's hands on him in public. It feels like a rare treat, something neither of them usually indulges in. Sam feels a swoop of excitement at the fact that they're out and Dean is flirting with him, touching him – treating him like a _date_.

"Okay," Sam says, licking his lips that suddenly feel way too dry. "Show me."

He leans down, smiling when Dean follows and slides a hand onto his arm, nudging him into position, adjusting his angle of the queue. 

"Like this, Sammy," he says, and Sam misses the next shot on purpose, just to get Dean to show him how to do it once more and feel him pressed up against him for a little bit longer.

*

They're barely inside the bunker before Dean has Sam backed up against a wall, kissing him like he's been dying to get his mouth on Sam. Sam grins against his mouth, feeling loose and a little tipsy—more so than Dean, he thinks, who didn't actually drink that much.

It doesn't take much for Sam to be fully hard in his jeans, grinding his hips forward against Dean's, as Dean places a line of kisses from his mouth along his jaw to Sam's ear.

"Fucking drive me crazy," he murmurs, hands squeezing Sam's waist and then sliding up, rucking up Sam's shirt.

"Dean," Sam groans, and Dean wrenches his mouth away from Sam, much to his disappointment.

"Bedroom," he says. "Wanna get you naked and spread you out, baby boy. Wanna eat you out and get you all sloppy and wet, so I can just sink right into you."

"Fuck," Sam spits out, crashing his lips to Dean's in another fervent kiss. He's the one to pull away this time, and he all but drags Dean towards the bedroom. 

They haven't even made it into Dean's bedroom before Sam starts pulling his clothes off, not caring about leaving a trail.

"Dude, slow down," Dean says, sounding amused.

Sam pushes his jeans down along with his boxer-briefs by the side of Dean's bed. "Fuck slow," he says, and kicks them both off. Judging by the way Dean looks at him, eyes roaming down Sam's naked body, he's on board with that plan.

Sam laughs—and fuck, he really _is_ tipsy—and sits down on the edge of the bed, spreading his legs. It makes him feel dirty and sexy and fucking vulnerable all at once, putting himself on display for Dean like this, and he reaches for Dean eagerly when Dean steps between his legs.

"Fuck, Sam, the things you do to me."

"All good, I hope," Sam mumbles and nuzzles Dean's stomach, hands pushing up his button-down until his mouth can touch warm skin. He sucks on the smooth skin, bites at it until he's satisfied that he's left behind a mark, and Dean's breath hitches. Sam hums in appreciation as Dean slides his fingers into his hair, tugging as Sam ducks his head, mouths the heavy outline of Dean's dick through his jeans.

"Want you," Sam says, and Dean groans. He tugs at Sam's hair again, pulls his head back, and Sam bites down onto his bottom lip.

"Lie down," Dean instructs and reaches for his pants, undoing the button. "On your stomach, baby boy."

Sam does as he's told and he turns his head, watching Dean getting undressed. Watches all that glorious, naked skin being revealed, makes a soft noise when Dean pushes his underwear down and his hard cock springs free. Sam is a little bit bigger than Dean, but Dean is still pretty damn impressive, all thick and long, big enough that he's skirting the edge of being too much and Sam loves taking him. Loves the way Dean can make him feel so damn full, split wide apart on his dick in the most amazing way possible.

Dean grins at him. 

Sam lets his thighs splay open when Dean kneels on the mattress and crawls between his legs.

Dean curves his hands around Sam's cheeks, fingers digging into flesh. He dips down and kisses Sam's spine toward the middle of his back.

"Want my mouth here?" he asks, squeezing Sam's cheeks, and Sam groans.

"Yeah," he says, not pretending that's not exactly what he wants. What he's dying for.

Dean trails his mouth lower, leaving behind a spit-slick path and Sam spreads his legs wider when Dean starts mouthing at where the small of his back curves into his butt. 

"Sam. Sammy," Dean murmurs, and then he moves lower. Sam feels the graze of his stubbled chin against his skin, before Dean pulls his cheeks apart and runs his tongue down Sam's crack.

Sam's moan his embarrassingly loud, hips shooting off the mattress and into the hot, wet touch of Dean's mouth.

Dean makes a noise that vibrates through Sam, makes him shudder, and Dean kneads his flesh as he buries his face between Sam's cheeks. He starts off with kitten licks around Sam's hole, before he nips and sucks, and then works his tongue in as Sam's muscles relax. It feels amazing, all filthy and sloppy, each thrust of Dean's tongue, each little suck and lick, sending a small shockwave of pleasure up Sam's spine.

Sam pushes his face into the pillow, trying to muffle the needy, breathless sounds spilling from his lips, arching back helplessly, rocking back against Dean. The way Dean squeezes his cheeks, the wet sounds as he eats Sam out, works him open with his tongue, only make Sam feel more horny, his stomach feeling tight.

"Dean," he moans. "Fuck, Dean."

To his disappointment, Dean pulls back then and Sam's hips undulate helplessly.

Dean kisses the swell of his cheek, then bites down on the same spot, and the flash of pain makes Sam whimper. 

"Come for me, Sammy. Just from my mouth," Dean says, and then he dives back in. His tongue, firm yet soft, pushes right into Sam and Sam is torn between grinding back and writhing against the mattress.

"Fuck yes," he groans, as Dean works his tongue in and out a few times. 

Dean lets go of his left cheek then and his hand curls around Sam's thigh, pushing his leg up, before he slides two fingers between Sam's legs, between his cheeks, and sinks them right into Sam.

It's the dry friction, the way Dean slides in deep and presses up against his prostate that makes the heat inside Sam bubble over, makes pleasure explode in his veins and he comes with a cry. 

Dean works him through it, fingers rubbing against that spot inside of Sam, tongue playing around his rim as Sam trembles. 

He can't even catch his breath before a third finger slides into him, nothing but Dean's spit slicking the way. It burns, making anticipation coil in Sam's stomach all over again. He rocks back onto Dean's fingers, curls his hands into fists around the sheets.

"Dean. Dean," he mumbles.

He feels too hot and sweaty and so damn wanton, the orgasm having done nothing to dampen his desperation. 

When Dean pulls his fingers free, Sam pushes up onto his knees, needy and keyed-up. He slides his arms under the pillow, rests his forehead on it.

The feel of Dean's dick sliding between his cheeks, slick with still cold lube, makes Sam groan, and his knees slip wider apart on the sheets, his back arching as Dean presses forward. He slides onto Sam, thick and big, and he should be used to that by now, but he never is. Never doesn't feel all breathless as Dean fills him up, stretched so wide around him, stuffed so deliciously full. 

"God, god," he mutters as Dean bottoms out.

Dean squeezes his hips, grunts softly. "So good, Sammy," he murmurs. "So good for me, baby boy."

He holds still for a few short moments, not quite enough to let Sam get fully used to it, to relax around him. If it was up to Sam, Dean wouldn't even stop for a single second, would just start fucking him and make him feel it, make his body remember this for days. 

But this is good, too. The way his body tries to accommodate Dean, and it still feels like it's almost too much until Dean has rocked in and out a few times, has made Sam relax around him. Dean thrusts in faster then, works Sam harder. Each thrust sparks pleasure inside of Sam, makes him moan and gasp and keen, and Dean echoes each sound, murmurs Sam's name like Sam is the best fucking thing in the world.

It's when Dean leans over him, grinds his dick into him, and sucks at the curve of Sam's shoulder, wrapping one hand firmly around Sam's cock, that Sam feels himself hurdling over the edge.

"Come on, Sammy," Dean murmurs and gives him a few hard tugs. "Let go. Want you to come, wanna feel you go all tight around me, moan so pretty for me, baby."

Sam shudders, the orgasm rippling through him, and this one feels so intense it knocks the breath right out of him. He cries out when Dean bites down on his shoulder, rutting into him and then sticky heat spreads inside of Sam as Dean spills deep into him.

Muscles quivering and Dean's weight pressing down onto him, Sam collapses down onto the mattress, pinned under Dean's body, and Sam is honestly not sure he's ever felt better.

*

"Did I win?" Dean murmurs, brushing his lips over Sam's forehead.

Sam snorts. "Not quite midnight yet," he mumbles, even though he has no idea how late it is.

"I made you come three times today," Dean points out and pulls back a little. He rests his head on the pillow, eyes meeting Sam's in the dim light. He cups Sam's face with one hand, rubs his thumb over Sam's cheek. "I'm fucking awesome."

"Hmm, yeah. But it was about romance, not sex," Sam points out.

Dean narrows his eyes, but there's no heat there. He cards his fingers through Sam's hair, tangling them in the soft curls at the bottom, and pulls at them gently. "Today was freaking amazing."

Sam smiles, because he can't deny that Dean is right. "Fine, you won," he admits.

"I did?" Dean asks, lips curving up into a smug smile.

"Yeah. But if you make me scrub the toilets for the next couple of months or some shit like that, I will do it because I'm not a wuss who backs down from a bet," Sam says, tone serious despite how drowsy and languid he feels, "but I won't be fucking happy about it, Dean. I will _hate_ you."

"You could never," Dean boasts.

Sam lifts a leg, worms it up higher until his thigh is wedged between Dean's. "Oh, I would," he stresses. 

"Well, I'm not gonna make you do that anyway. I have something completely different in mind, Sammy," Dean says. He's lowered his voice, making it sound all dark and raspy, and Sam tries to ignore the way it makes his stomach quiver, makes heat wash through him all over again, because he's too fucking spent to do anything about it tonight.

"Like what?" he asks.

Dean shifts closer, cups the back of Sam's neck, thumb pressing against Sam's jaw. "I was thinking, next time we have to drive somewhere for a job, I want you to wear a plug for me on the way there," he murmurs. "Wanna watch you writhe and moan in the passenger seat, baby."

"Fuck, Dean," Sam hisses, rocking his hips forward into him even though there's no way he's up for another round.

"That a yes?" Dean asks. "We can pull over somewhere when it gets too much, Sammy. And I can just sink right into you. I wanna get you all sloppy and sticky with my come and then put the plug right back in."

"Are you trying to kill me?" Sam rasps and presses closer, their legs tangled, their noses bumping.

"You don't have to. Only if you want," Dean murmurs, as if just the thought of what Dean is suggesting isn't clearly turning Sam on. As if Sam has ever said no to any of the things Dean has suggested they could do, isn't more than willing to try out anything.

"Yeah. Yeah," Sam says and then gives a laugh.

"What?" Dean asks.

"Just didn't think," Sam says, "you'd _actually_ make this the best fucking Valentine's Day ever."

"Hmm, I had the right motivation," Dean teases. "And I kinda fucking love you, Sammy."

"Love you, too," Sam murmurs and grins. "Hey, Dean? Next year, it's my turn."

"Yeah?" Dean asks and skims his hand down Sam's back.

"Hmm. I think I'm going to make you lick chocolate off my body at some point," Sam teases, and Dean gives a gravelly laugh.

"I think I'm starting to get why some people love Valentine's Day now, baby boy," he murmurs and brings their lips together in a kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading ♥  
> (You can find me on twitter [@whispered_story](https://twitter.com/whispered_story).)


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